Broken Heart Rune
by TheHardcoreHobbit
Summary: He was this beast now. He knew he'd have to come to terms with that. The thing he couldn't accept was the fact that all his runes were gone. Even the one that kept him sane while Jocelyn fell in love with another man.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi guys! Thanks for choosing to read this; not sure how many fellow Luke fans there are (I loved him in the books and then Aiden Turner, I mean, come on), but I can't help noticing that there's hardly any fics with him as the star. So here's something for those who would like some more of that! The fic is finished, so Ill probably be posting a chapter every day or two, and it won't hinder me from writing my other fic, for those of you who have read it. Anyway, Ive blabbed enough, hope you enjoy!

P.S. I have horrible spelling, especially when it comes to shadowhunter terms, so just correct me if I'm wrong. Sorry! :\

* * *

Chapter One: Luke  
It was just supposed to be a normal patrol.  
He trusted Valentine, he still did, even after what Jocelyn had told him. He knew that she was afraid of him, that she wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing anymore, but Luke still trusted his parabatai. If he didn't know that Valentine had his back, then where would he be?  
But then his friend, _his best friend, loyal companion_, the person he trusted with his life, wasn't there when he needed him the most.  
He brought him out to patrol, and then left him, right when the werewolves were upon them.  
He'd never felt so alone than in that moment. Not when he'd been picked on in class, not when Jocelyn married Valentine, never.  
This was a rogue pack, the members of which had nothing left to loose. They didn't care if they lived or died, as long as they could make the shadowhunters pay for whatever perceived transgressions had been committed against them.  
He fought them off best he could, but he was surrounded within minutes. He had his training, he knew what to do; instincts kicked in as he slashed and hacked, protecting all sides with the power of the runes flaring to life on his body, granting him speed, dexterity, strength. Jocelyn had drawn them on him in the moments before they'd left, and they were burning away much too quickly.  
He remembered thinking it was over in such an anticlimactic way. One of the wolves broke through his defenses, clawing the seraph blade from his grip. He cried out and clutched his hand to his chest, still looking for Valentine, still hoping that his friend would save him from this situation in which he was so clearly out numbered.  
But no assistance came, and so he stabbed the offending shifter through the chest, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction from the wail it made as it died. He was just about to allow himself a small bit of hope; _there weren't too many left, maybe he could get out of this with nothing more than a shredded wrist,_ when a werewolf came at him from behind, digging its claws into his back.  
He bellowed and spun, trying to shake the creature off of him, but it simply snatched his shoulder up into its jaw, forcing him to his knees. His blood spread down the front of his black gear, worming its way down through the worn creases in the fabric until it dripped to add to the increasing puddle of crimson.  
The wolf shook him once, knocking the breath out of him as it threw him to the dirt. He couldn't remember exactly what happened next, except that he was on the ground, and there was pain. A blinding, breath-taking agony that made it impossible for him to move.  
He didn't know when or why the werewolves left, only that once he finally recovered himself, they were gone.  
His wrist and torso were on fire, but he shoved it away, forcing himself to think. He was a shadowhunter, he'd felt discomfort before, he knew how to manage it. D_eal with it, Graymark, you know what you have to do. _  
There was an angry splash of red around him as he pushed himself to his hands and knees. His left arm gave out when he put weight on it, so he pressed it against his chest in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.  
It seemed like things were happening in flashes of bright sensations, with periods of darkness between. It was raining, and he was somehow on his feet. Blackness.  
He had to get back to the mansion, he had to see Jocelyn. Blackness. Why did Valentine leave him? Blackness. He could see the house now, but it was so far away and there was thunder rolling in the distance. Blackness. Would she miss him when he was gone?  
And then somehow he was up on the porch. He couldn't remember crawling up the steps, but he must have. He was collapsed against the front door, feebly pounding on it, vaguely feeling guilty about the blood that stained Jocelyn's welcome mat. He'd have to buy her a new one if he somehow managed to live.  
Someone answered, and he could see her bright red hair as she leaned over him, horror in her eyes. Relief rushed through him; at least he was going to see her one last time.  
"Lucian? Luke?! By the angel, Lucian! Valentine! VALENTINE!" Her voice seemed to be coming through towards him in a fog, filled with terror, but he still thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard.  
"Weren't you supposed to be on patrol with him?!" Jocelyn asked her husband, presumably.  
"I lost him, I turned my back for a second, I swear! I thought he'd be fine, it's not as if we've had a lot of problems in the past few weeks-"  
"YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED WITH HIM!" Jocelyn practically screeched, hysteria underlying her tone as she knelt over him.  
His vision was fading, but he could hear her whispering to him as Valentine picked him up, like he was 12 instead of 20.  
"Stay with me Lucian, come on, you're going to be just fine. It's alright, it's okay, oh god, Valentine there's so much blood, we need to hurry, please!"  
The next thing he knew he was lying in a soft bed. He wanted to protest because he was probably ruining the sheets, but no sound would come out of his throat. The familiar burn of a stele marking runes was the only thing he knew, before the pain finally subsided and he let himself drift away.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'm going off my head canon that Luke wouldn't have lost the ability to withstand the runes until after the first time he shifted. Sorry for the awkward wording in some parts, but I wasn't exactly sure how else to phrase things. :/ Thanks for reading, any and all reviews are welcome!

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Chapter Two:

He wasn't out for long. The fresh sting of a stele being dragged none too gently across his skin made him swallow back a groan as it brought him back to the world of the living.

"Valentine, be careful," Jocelyn reproached her husband, and he growled under his breath.

"They aren't working like they should. It's like something's stopping it…" Valentine trailed off as the pressure of someone's hand on Lucian's shoulder sent new spikes of pain through him, "Jocelyn, look."

There was a gasp, and then a muffled sob as if someone was barely holding themselves back. What was on his shoulder, what was happening to hurt Jocelyn like that? It wasn't him was it? He vowed he'd never hurt her, ever, he wouldn't, he didn't know-

"He's been bitten," Valentine's voice was dead, devoid of emotion.

Those three words numbed him to the very core.

He'd been bitten.

By a werewolf.

It didn't compute, didn't make sense. He was a shadow hunter, this wasn't supposed to happen, he was Nephilim goddamn it-

"Luke, its Jocelyn… I need you to drink this okay? It'll help with the fever," her voice sounded as if she was on the brink of tears, and he wanted nothing more than to hug her and tell her everything was going to be alright.

He knew he was lying to himself as the concoction sent him spiraling back into unconsciousness.

* * *

When he finally woke up, for real this time, Jocelyn was sitting in a chair next to his bed, her hand on his arm as she slept. The simple contact sent a fire through him that wasn't so different from the pain he'd been in and he shifted slightly on the pristine white sheets so that they were no longer touching.

Her head snapped up at the movement. Confusion blinked in her eyes for a second before she saw that he was alert, and a bright smile spread across her features.

"You're awake," she said with a sigh, rubbing her forehead with her palm.

He didn't answer. The words just kept echoing in his head. _He's been bitten_. Over and over.

"Lucian?"

He finally glanced over at her; even that small movement sending aching sensations up his neck from the wound on his shoulder.

When she saw the broken look on his face, her happy demeanor crumpled, "You remember."

"You probably shouldn't be near me right now," he whispered, his throat raw, "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she said with complete conviction, "I know you won't. There's still hope, not everyone who is bitten turns. We have until the full moon at least, we can try to figure something out-"

"There's no cure, Jocelyn."

"I know, I know, but... We'll figure it out, okay?"

He nodded, even though an undefinable sensation settled in his stomach. He had only a few weeks left with her. And then if he shifted…

It was all over. More final than the wedding, more final than Jocelyn finding out she was pregnant… it would be better to be dead.

"Can I just… be alone for a bit?" He asked, hating himself for causing the brief flare of hurt in her eyes.

"Sure. I'll be back in a bit to check on you though, okay? You're wounds are healing slower than they should be..." she seemed to trail off in the middle of a thought before abruptly spinning and stalking out of the room.

He peeled the sheets back, careful to avoid jarring his bandaged wrist too much. There were iratze covering his body, but the rune he was looking for had a very different shape.

It was where he'd drawn it last, small on his hip. When he'd first marked it on himself, it was large and right over his heart, where it'd make the most impact. The closer to the heart, the more potent, they'd always been told.

Valentine and Jocelyn had told him they were dating earlier that day. He'd been so furious with his parabatai at first, because he knew, Valentine _knew_, that Lucian himself was in love with Jocelyn. She'd been his best friend, his only friend until he joined up with The Circle. He couldn't help it. When she was around, it was like the world had more color, more life, and even the demons didn't seem as evil.

But they'd looked so happy together that he'd forced himself to stay silent, and internally forgave the both of them. He'd sat down and burned the broken-heart rune into his flesh less than a minute after they'd gone out on their dinner.

He'd always hoped deep down that they'd break up and he'd get his chance, but they just became closer and closer. Then came the marriage. He'd only put the symbol into his skin the one time before the day of the wedding, but on that morning, he had to have drawn at least six of them, up and down his chest.

They faded. And he took to reapplying the mark as needed.

Jocelyn had seen it a few weeks after the wedding, during one of his training sessions with Valentine. They'd both been shirtless; he wasn't thinking. He managed to blow the questions off by claiming it was some other girl he'd meet in a coffee shop. Jocelyn had shaken her head and said that she didn't deserve him, that he should have told her about this mystery girl sooner. After all, what were best friends for if not to be able to tell each other anything and everything?

He'd laughed and said it really wasn't a big deal. He'd taken it too fast, gotten reckless with his emotions, gotten ahead of himself. He just needed to take a step back and he'd be fine.

After that, he made sure to draw the rune in places where Jocelyn wouldn't be able to see it accidentally. Her questions would lead no place good, and he didn't think he'd be able to function normally around her and Valentine without it.

Sure enough, as he brushed his finger over the space where the rune had been, it had worn away again. He carefully reached for his stele, which Jocelyn had left on the table next to him and traced the previous lines, clenching his teeth at the searing sensation. The numbness in his chest returned, and he fell back against the pillow with a sigh of relief. It didn't hurt so much now, to think about what he was going to have to do in a few weeks. Maybe Jocelyn was right. They'd figure something out.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the long delay, been having internet issues. Here's the next chapter hope you enjoy! Any reviews or comments are appreciated!

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Chapter Three:

It'd been a week and a half since he'd been bitten. He was finally given the okay to leave Valentine's home, even though the scar was still there on his shoulder, stubbornly refusing to fade from the angry red that it had turned to after the fifth round of iratze that Jocelyn had applied. She'd tried to fix it several more times, but after the last, he'd exploded, shouting that there was nothing she could do and just to leave it and him alone.  
There'd been tears in her eyes as she'd run from the room, and he'd immediately regretted his words. When he'd tried to go after her, Valentine was in his way, sending the message in carefully worded phrases that he needed to back off from his wife, or there would be repercussions.  
He'd never been kept from Jocelyn like that. He'd never had to be. There'd never been anger between them, they didn't shout at each other. But now…  
Now the full moon was only two days away.  
Valentine was carefully avoiding him, as was the rest of the Circle. Once he'd been able to find Jocelyn and apologize, she hesitantly began spending time with him again, trying to lift his shredded spirits.  
But it wasn't the same.  
It'd never be the same again.  
"Lucian!" Jocelyn called from down the hall. He'd been walking by himself just trying to think of anything other than the next few days.  
"Hello."  
"You… I didn't see you at dinner, so I thought I'd come try to find you."  
"Wasn't hungry."  
"Well… we put some leftovers in the fridge in the kitchen, just in case you wanted some later on tonight…"  
"Thank you."  
"I was… I was wondering if you wanted to go out on a hike through the backwoods? We haven't been through there in forever, we could maybe stop in and see your sister and Stephan?"  
His sister. What would she think when she found out he'd been bitten?  
_Stop it. You haven't even shifted yet. You don't know…__  
_ But he did know. He knew.  
"If it'll make you happy, then I'll get my coat."  
"Oh. Okay. I mean, you don't have to go Lucian, I don't want you to feel as if you're obligated-"  
"Jocelyn, I'll go, alright?" He snapped, and immediately guilt flooded through him, "I'm sorry… By the Angel, I can't do anything right, can I?"  
He scrubbed his hands through his hair and then across his face as he fought back the sting of tears in his eyes. Shadowhunters didn't cry. How many times had they been taught that at the institute?  
"Luke?" Jocelyn asked, her voice soft as she used the familiar nickname that only she and his parents had used.  
"Jocey, I'm sorry, I just can't…" he pressed his spine against the cool stone of the walls, hoping it would center him.  
"Luke…"  
He couldn't see her anymore as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, sliding down to the floor when his legs wouldn't support him anymore. His breath hitched in his throat, and within a second, Jocelyn slide her hands around his shoulders, pulling them closer together. He could feel the swell of her stomach where her and Valentine's child was growing and for some reason that made his despair all that much worse.  
A tear escaped from his fingers and slid down his cheek, where Jocelyn promptly wiped it away, "Lucian Graymark, you are so much better than this. You are a Shadow hunter, you have the blood of the angel in you, and one little bite won't stop you."  
"You don't get it," He said, his voice thick, "If I shift… the entire Circle… a lot of what we're doing here is to change the way we deal with Downworlders, and if I become one…"  
"I do get it. And it doesn't change the way I feel about you. You'll always be my best friend Luke, and werewolf or not, none of that changes."  
He didn't move, didn't acknowledge what she'd said. She'd guessed his fear, yes, and her words helped, but only marginally. He didn't want to be her best friend, he _loved_ her, but he couldn't say that, especially not now.  
"Come on, let's get you home. I bet you can't wait to be there after being confined to my house for so long by the healer," she tried to sound chipper and happy, but he could tell there was a big part of her that didn't want to let him leave.  
They drove in silence. All of the circle members had homes within a few miles from each other at most, so it only took a matter of minutes to reach the small two bedroom place that he'd helped build after they'd left the institute. Jocelyn had insisted it be close to the home that she and Valentine had created for themselves after the marriage, and he'd complied, unable to resist doing anything that made her happy.  
He went inside, and shut the door behind him, managing to make it to his bed before he fell face first on it and wished he'd just suffocate on the blankets


	4. Chapter 4

The full moon was tonight.  
He had tried not to think about it, tried to pretend like this was just a normal day, but he knew he was just going through the motions. He could feel it in the back of his mind like a constant reminder of what might happen.  
Jocelyn had not stopped talking for the past hour, filling the air with chatter about what she wanted to name the baby, what color she was going to paint his or her room, anything she could think of to fill the silence. He gave his input when he thought it was necessary, but too soon the evening was drawing near.  
He could feel it itching under his skin, but he hoped, he still hoped that maybe he was imagining the whole thing and he was going to wake up the next morning the same person.  
"I've gotta go, Jocelyn. I can't… I can't be here."  
"You can stay just a bit longer, can't you-"  
"No, he can't," Valentine said from where he stood in the doorway.  
He hadn't even known that his parabati was there, "I'll see you later, alright?"  
He said it to the both of them, but he meant it mainly for Jocelyn, because there was something off about Valentine. Jocelyn had told him that she was worried about him, that she'd been hearing things, she'd been afraid for him and even of him a few times recently, but when Lucian had asked Valentine about it, the man had blown him off with a smile and an offer to patrol the possible hunting grounds of a werewolf pack later that night. There probably wasn't anything there, he'd said, it was just routine. Would you want to check it out with me?  
He walked outside into the dusk like a man on his way to the gallows. He was only 20, this shouldn't be happening to him. He should have had a life ahead of him; sure it was one full of fighting, and it probably would have been shorter than a mundane's, but it would have been a life.  
The wood was the best place to go. Jocelyn had told him to enter into a clearing behind her house. She had said she wanted him close, so that when he didn't shift he could come back in and they could eat some of the cookies she'd been baking since this morning. It was strange seeing her as the pregnant housewife instead of the demon hunter with a sharp tongue that she used to be.  
Desperate hope bubbled up in him as the moon rose and nothing happened.  
Then the ache in his shoulder began. He rolled it a few times, praying it was just the pain of the injury, but it soon exploded into an agony that rivaled the worst demon wound he'd even had.  
It soon surpassed anything he'd felt before as the bones in his body began moving and shifting under his skin, forcing the breath from his lungs as he collapsed on the ground, screaming as white hot torment assaulted his body.  
At some point, he felt his parabati bond with Valentine splinter and disappear, hurting him more than anything physical could have. Every tie he had to the world of the shadowhunters was being severed by this transformation, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stand it.  
But then his thoughts were obliterated by more torture, and he lost himself completely.  
The rest of the night passed in a blur of red until he woke up, curled up at the base of a tree, covered in blood. Some of it was his own, pouring from injuries that he wasn't sure how he'd gotten; the rest was from something or someone else that he didn't want to know.  
His clothes were in tatters, hanging from him in threads. The area around him was familiar, something he supposed he could be grateful about. He knew how to get back to Jocelyn, he had to at least let her know what happened to him. All he could think about was her sitting up all night, waiting for him with a plate of cookies. She'd be so worried about him.  
He managed to climb to his feet and make his way towards the Morgenstern manor, his heart in his throat. Everything hurt to move, he wondered if it was like this for all new werewolves, or was it just particularly bad for him, since he'd been a shadowhunter?  
The front porch seemed different somehow. More menacing. Like he wasn't welcome here, but he knew that wasn't true because Jocelyn said she'd always accept him, no matter what.  
And Valentine, he had to understand that Lucian hadn't wanted this, it wasn't his choice.  
He knocked on the door, trying not to break down because this was exactly what he'd feared would happen. He'd turned, he'd been turned... _he's been bitten._  
Jocelyn answered the door and nearly screamed when she saw him, covering her mouth with her hand as she started to cry, "Lucian! Oh, Luke-"  
She was interrupted by Valentine's tall form stepping inbetween them.  
"Jocelyn, the baby," he said, almost as if he expected Lucian to shift and attack them both right there.  
But he would never do that, could never do that, because this was _Jocelyn_ by the Angel, and he would _never_ hurt her.  
"Lucian, you need to come with me," Valentine said as he grabbed Luke's shoulder, dragging him away from the door.  
"_Jocelyn_!" he called, hoping she would tell her husband to wait, that she wanted to make sure he was okay first, but she just stood there with a look of fear and confusion in her gaze as she watched the two men she cared about most in the world head off into the forest.  
Once they were a sufficient distance away from the house, and he was thoroughly lost, Valentine stopped and turned to face him.  
Wordlessly, he handed him one of his Morgenstern blades, one of his most prized possessions.  
"What-" Lucian cleared his throat as his voice cracked, "What's this for?"  
"I think you know," Valentine said gently, looking as if he would have rather been anywhere else in the world.  
Sudden understanding passed through him like a lightening bolt. Valentine wanted him to kill himself?  
"No, I can't!" he stammered, taking a step away.  
"Lucian, I wish there was something else we could do, but-" his para- (no, they were just close friends now, simply brothers in arms and nothing more) paused, scrubbing his face, "You've been turned. You're one of them now, the very things we're fighting against."  
"I know that," he swallowed, "Don't you think I know?! But Jocelyn, she'd-"  
"How do you think this is going to affect her? She loves you like her brother, Lucian. And now you're this… thing, and she's not going to be able to come to terms with that! Its better if you're dead, if you're gone, and she can know that you're at peace. She'll be able to move on, live her life!"  
"She said-"  
"I know what she said. She told me," Valentine moved closer, his dark eyes staring into Lucian's blue, "Do you know what she also whispered, that night when I was trying to comfort her in the dark?"  
He shook his head.  
"She wasn't sure if it was true. If she would even be able to look you in the eye if you changed. She didn't think she was going to be able to keep it together whenever you were around, that it would tear her apart on the inside knowing that you were this creature of the moon."  
His heart broke then, into a pile of tiny shards of glass. He would be killing the woman he cared about most in the world if he stayed alive.  
In that moment he knew what he had to do.  
He snatched the blade from Valentine's fingers, clenching it in his fist until his knuckles were white.  
"She'll thank you Lucian, one day. And I'm thanking you today. You're doing the right thing, for all of us. This is no way to live, with this curse."  
He couldn't speak as Valentine grabbed the back of his neck, pressing their foreheads together, "Please, if you could wait until I'm far enough away… I don't-"  
There was a moment of silence as Valentine composed himself, "I don't want to be here when you do it. I don't think I could stand it."  
The two of them stood like that for a moment longer until the shadowhunter murmured, "Goodbye, my brother," and spun without a backwards glance, his long coat kicking up leaves in the small whirlwind he created.  
Then Lucian was alone, staring down at the seraph blade in his hand as if he'd never seen one before.  
What was he supposed to do with it? He didn't think he could take the slow way out by slitting his wrists, he'd almost bled out too many times for that to be an appealing option.  
Finally he decided just to take the simplest way. He posed the long dagger over his heart, gently pressing it into his flesh. Red slowly dripped from the shallow cut as he braced himself.  
He wondered if Jocelyn would mourn the man he used to be. She'd be okay without him, she'd have to be. She had Valentine to take care of her now…  
He was bracing himself to plunge the blade deeper when his last thought caught up with him.  
_Would _Valentine take care of her? She had told him that she was becoming afraid of her husband… but she seemed not to remember that she had told Lucian anything. It was as if that conversation never happened.  
For some reason, this thought made him pause. And then lower the knife.  
He couldn't do it. Even if Jocelyn hated him and never talked to him again, he couldn't do it. They'd always been taught that suicide was for the weak, and if he was anything, he wasn't weak.  
He made up his mind, without even really realizing it. He wanted revenge, on who or what, he wasn't really sure.  
There was a tree a few feet away that he collapsed against, holding his head in his hands as he tried to fight the anger. It was bubbling up in him like a spring, pushing against his skin, making it feel too tight against his body.  
Then it came to him. He would go after the pack that attacked him. He had their scent, he knew he could follow them to their den. He would kill the one that turned him, and anyone else who dared try to stop him.  
It gave him purpose, something to live for beyond simply taking the next breath, and so he got to his feet, stowing the knife in what was left of the waistband of his jeans, trudging back in the direction he thought his house might be in order to find a change of clothes.


End file.
